


Our Heaven's Worth the Waiting

by prouvaireafterdark



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Getting Back Together, M/M, Michael Guerin Loves Alex Manes, POV Alternating, Poetry, Sad Michael Guerin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:27:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24006586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prouvaireafterdark/pseuds/prouvaireafterdark
Summary: “Is he always like this?” Max finds himself asking.There’s a pause where Isobel follows his line of sight to Michael, now leaning over the bar to help himself to Maria’s whiskey while she takes an order.Isobel laughs. “God, even without your memories you’re such a fucking cop. Don’t worry, she’ll make him pay for it one way or another.”Max turns to see an amused smile on her face.“No, I mean…” he starts, struggling for the right words. “Is he always pretending?”***The one where Max helps Michael figure out what, and more importantlywho, he really wants.
Relationships: Maria DeLuca/Michael Guerin, Max Evans & Michael Guerin, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 61
Kudos: 373





	Our Heaven's Worth the Waiting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pastelwitchling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastelwitchling/gifts).



> Here’s my take on [pastelwitchling's prompt!](https://pastelwitchling.tumblr.com/post/617037893311004672/i-would-die-to-hear-vlamis-poems-acted-by-micheal)
> 
> Disclaimer: I didn't write Michael's poem in this fic, the credit for that goes entirely to Vlamis himself.
> 
> Also, while I wouldn't consider this fic anti-Maria, Alex is a little petty and there's a blink-and-you-miss-it reference to 2x06, which did not happen in the universe of this fic, so make of that what you will.

Max Evans doesn’t know much right now, but he can spot bullshit when he sees it. And this? This is bullshit.

From his and Isobel’s table, he’s watched Michael flirt his way through the evening, leaning hard against the Wild Pony’s bar with a bright smile aimed right at Maria DeLuca. He looks happy, his shoulders a little lighter, until Maria goes to get something from the back and Alex Manes walks into the bar with a hipster on his arm.

If looks could kill, Max is pretty sure this blue-haired guy would be six feet under. It’s probably for the best that he skips the bar and heads for a table near the front of the open mic stand, dropping a kiss on Alex’s cheek before he goes.

Alex talks to Michael briefly and Max clocks the way the airman tries not to let his eyes linger on the wide spread of Michael’s thighs over his barstool while he waits for his drinks.

He doesn’t miss the way Michael digs his right thumb into the black bandana covering his palm when Alex leaves, pressing so hard it has to hurt.

Maria comes out from the back room with a box of straws and that million watt smile reappears, almost like it was never gone in the first place.

“Is he always like this?” Max finds himself asking.

There’s a pause where Isobel follows his line of sight to Michael, now leaning over the bar to help himself to Maria’s whiskey while she takes an order.

Isobel laughs. “God, even without your memories you’re such a fucking cop. Don’t worry, she’ll make him pay for it one way or another.”

Max turns to see an amused smile on her face.

“No, I mean…” he starts, struggling for the right words. “Is he always pretending?”

Isobel frowns and glances back at Michael, her head tilted in confusion.

“Nevermind,” Max shakes his head, taking a sip from his beer. “Maybe I’m imagining it.”

Except he isn’t.

Max watches Michael and Alex dance around each other, trading glances when they think no one’s looking. He watches Michael throw himself at Maria that much harder one night after he and Alex fight, and he watches Michael’s heart break when that blue-haired guy—named Forrest, he’s since discovered—snakes his fingers up the back of Alex’s shirt like he owns him. 

He watches until, one night, he just can’t take it anymore.

“We’re brothers, right?” Max starts, leaning against a cabinet full of complicated medical equipment.

“Uh, yeah, man,” Michael gives him a weird look.

“We talk to each other about things then?” Max presses.

Michael laughs. “Not really.”

“Hm.” Max isn’t quite sure how his past self fucked _that_ up, but he’s hoping he’ll be able to fix it. “Well, can we? ‘Cause there’s something I don’t really understand.”

Michael shrugs and turns back to his equipment. “Okay, shoot.”

Max takes a deep breath and decides to just go for it. “Why are you with Maria when you’re clearly in love with Alex?”

Michael freezes for so long that Max thinks he broke him for a second. “Are you fucking with me right now?” he asks at last, brow drawn tight with something that looks a little like betrayal. “Do you have your memories back?”

“Um, no,” Max says regretfully. “But I do have eyes.”

Michael sighs heavily and tosses the pipette he was holding onto the table, placing his hands flat against the surface. His head hangs between his shoulders, but he doesn’t say anything.

Max waits patiently.

“I don’t—“ Michael starts, but cuts himself off like he just can’t get the words out. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You wouldn’t even know your own name if we hadn’t told you.”

Max’s mouth twists unhappily at the deflection. “Okay, but—“

“Leave it alone, Max,” Michael interrupts, a little desperately. “I’m with Maria. I _like_ Maria. Isn’t that enough?”

The door to the secret lab opens before Max can respond.

“Hope you boys are hungry!” Liz calls as she walks over the threshold, arms laden with takeout bags from the Crashdown. Her thick, dark hair is tossed over one shoulder, and her lipstick is a distracting shade of red. “There was a mix-up with an order at the diner and I have a truly absurd amount of fries.”

Max smiles at her, stunned into silence just long enough for Michael to weasel his way of their conversation.

A week later, Max remembers who he is.

He also remembers his brother’s a goddamn idiot, and Max is determined to save him from himself.

“You want me to _what_?” Michael asks him, pushing himself out from under the car he’s working on to give Max an incredulous look.

“Well, you can’t exactly see a therapist,” Max says, a little defensively.

“So you want me to write a _poem_ about my _feelings_?”

Max rolls his eyes at the disbelief dripping from Michael’s voice.

“It works, okay?” Max says. Michael keeps staring at him. “If writing something honest about what you’re feeling will make you breathe a little easier, why not give it a try?”

Michael stands up, dusting his hands off on his jeans as he stalks off toward the bench his mid-afternoon beer is sitting on. He takes a long pull from the bottle instead of giving him an answer.

“Michael,” Max sighs.

“Why won’t you drop this?” he asks, rounding on Max.

“Because I _love you_ , and I want you to be happy,” Max says, amazed and a little offended that that needs an explanation.

“Maria makes me happy,” Michael protests.

“Does she?” Max asks, taking a step closer. “Or does she just distract you from the things you’d rather not think about?”

Michael glares at him.

“Look, do it or don’t,” Max says, laying a hand on Michael’s shoulder. “But you’re gonna have to deal with this eventually, and for your sake I hope it’s not too late when you do.”

When he turns to leave, Michael doesn’t stop him.

_This is stupid_ , Michael thinks, laying on his bed with a notebook open on his chest. _Max is stupid and I’m stupid for listening to him._

With a sigh, Michael rolls over and closes his eyes, shoving his face in his pillow. It smells faintly of Maria’s perfume, but his mind inevitably drifts to Alex, to that morning when he woke up to Alex kissing his chest and Michael forgot he lived in a world where he wasn’t allowed to have nice things.

It’s ridiculous. _Ten fucking years,_ and he’s still reeling from Alex Manes.

Michael reaches for his notebook. Once he starts writing, the words flow out of him.

The fire crackles in front of him, a folded up piece of paper tight in his grip. He tries to make himself put it in the flames, but his fingers won’t obey him. What will be left, he wonders, if he burns away the part of him that loves Alex Manes?

His phone buzzes in his pocket. It’s a text from Maria. ****

_Can I come over? I need you tonight._

Michael’s mouth twists as his finger wipes over the screen. Max might think Maria’s just a distraction, but she’s—it’s more than that. After losing Alex, losing his mom, losing Max… she’s the only person who doesn’t make him feel useless. That’s gotta count for something, right?

But he won’t fuck her in the bed that makes him think of Alex. Not tonight.

 _I’ll come to you_ , he types back, standing up from his seat in front of the fire. He puts it out and slips the folded piece of paper into the back pocket of his jeans before heading to his truck.

He can be good for Maria, and that’s enough. It has to be.

Michael wakes up the next morning alone in Maria’s bed. He picks his clothes up off the floor, tugging them on roughly. It’s not until he puts his phone in his back pocket that he notices it’s empty.

His head whips back and forth, scanning the floor for any trace of that piece of paper. He looks everywhere, even under the bed.

Nothing.

With a nervous swallow, he leaves the bedroom and walks down the hall toward the kitchen. He sees Maria sitting at her kitchen table with a mug of coffee and a bottle of Jack. He tries to keep the panic out of his voice when he asks, “Hey, have you seen—“

The words die in his throat when Maria fixes him with a red-rimmed glare. It’s then he notices the unfolded piece of notebook paper in front of her.

Michael’s stomach turns to lead, an intensely violated feeling creeping under his skin. She wasn’t supposed to read that. _No one_ was supposed to read that.

“Look, I can explain,” he tries, but she scoffs at him.

“ _Fuck_ you, Guerin,” she says, crumpling the paper and throwing it at him. It bounces off his chest and lands on the floor.

Michael leans down to scoop the ball of paper up off the terra cotta tile, shoving it deep in his pocket before he takes a step closer to her.

“Maria, it’s not—“

“Have you been fucking him behind my back this whole time?” she interrupts, looking up at him.

“What? _No_ , Maria, come on,” Michael says, bristling at the accusation. “I wouldn’t do that to you. I would _never_ do that.”

“Oh, okay,” she says, but he can tell from her tone she’s still furious. “So you won’t actually fuck my best friend, just write romantic poetry about him. Got it.”

Michael doesn’t know what to say to that. He doesn’t think there’s anything he _can_ say to that. He stands there, eyes on his boots, hands on his hips.

“When did you write it?” she asks a moment later, her poorly-constructed veneer of calm failing to mask the storm of rage and hurt he can see swirling behind her eyes when he meets her gaze again.

“What does it matter? I was just going to throw it out—“

“ _When_?” she asks again.

He sighs, defeated, and looks at the ceiling when he admits, “Last night.”

It’s deadly quiet while Maria processes that bombshell.

“Get out,” she says at last, her voice cold and angry.

“Maria, I’m so—“

“Get out!” she screams suddenly, startling him. “Get _out_ , Guerin! God, I can’t _believe_ I thought you actually cared about me, I’m so _fucking_ stupid.”

“I _do_ care about you!”

“Not like you care about Alex, though, right? I mean, _Jesus_ , Guerin. ‘Ten years and my heart’s still reeling’?”

“Please don’t,” Michael begs, unable to bear hearing his own words thrown back in his face.

“How the fuck can I compete with that?” she demands. “Why even let me _try_?”

“It’s not a competition,” he says.

Maria laughs harshly.

“It’s _not_ , okay?” he insists. “I like you.”

“Yeah, maybe,” she says, her tears beginning to fall. “But you don’t love me.”

She lets that hang in the air between them, as if waiting for Michael to deny it. He doesn’t. He can’t.

“Get the fuck out of my house, Guerin,” she says, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

“Maria,” he pleads, though for what he isn’t sure.

“ _Now_ ,” she says. “And find somewhere else to drown your sorrows. You’re not welcome at the Pony anymore.”

Michael leaves without another word.

Max is only slightly surprised when he comes home to find Michael on his couch, head in his hands with his cowboy hat and a bottle of bourbon on the coffee table in front of him. He hangs his own hat on the hook by the door and slowly walks over to his brother.

“Michael?” he asks softly.

“I fucked up, Max,” he says, voice thick with emotion. His eyes stay fixed on the floor between his feet.

“Is this about Maria?” he asks as delicately as he can. “Liz told me you two had a fight,” he adds, which is really putting it mildly. He wasn’t privy to all the gory details, but he’d heard enough.

Michael shakes his head and laughs, but it comes out more like a sob.

“It probably should be, but no.”

“Ah,” Max nods in understanding as he carefully sits down beside him. “It’s about Alex.”

Michael reaches for the open bottle of bourbon on the coffee table. He takes a long pull before he answers.

“Yeah,” he sniffs. “God, I’m such an asshole. I broke her heart and all I can think about is Alex. Why is it _always_ about Alex?”

“He’s your Liz,” Max explains, bumping Michael’s shoulder with his own. “You love him.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“Maybe,” Max says, “but that’s not how love works.”

“You some kind of expert?” Michael turns to look at him, his eyes wet.

“Hey, you’re not the only alien around here with an advanced degree in pining,” he jokes, but Michael just sighs heavily and tips backward into the couch cushions to stare at the ceiling.

“I’ve wasted so much _time_ ,” he says, mournfully. Max watches a thick tear roll from the corner of his eye into his ear. “I think… I think it might be too late.”

“You won’t know until you talk to him.”

“I can’t do that,” he protests. “He’s with someone now.”

“Well, how long are you willing to wait for him?”

Michael takes a deep breath before he answers, “As long as it takes.”

“Then tell him that,” Max says.

Michael looks unconvinced.

“Just take it one step at a time, okay?” Max says. “When you’re ready, tell him how you feel.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“Easy? Hell no,” Max says with a sympathetic smile. “But the best things never are.”

The sun is setting low in the sky when Alex pulls up to Michael’s Airstream, summoned by an enigmatic text from the alien asking him to meet. Given that barely anyone has seen Michael in almost two weeks, Alex feels justified in his relief to see Michael sitting in a lawn chair in front of his fire pit.

“There you are,” Alex comments as he approaches. Michael smiles at him. “You know, next time you decide to drop off the face of the Earth, a heads up would be nice.”

“What, you miss me?” Michael asks, flashing him that cocky grin. Alex has to fight not to blush. Truth be told, if he wasn’t getting regular updates from _Max_ of all people that Michael was okay, Alex would’ve tracked him down himself.

“Maybe,” Alex shrugs, giving him a smile of his own as he takes a seat next to him. “What were you up to?”

“This and that,” Michael says. “Fixed some cars, did some research, went on a road trip for a couple days…”

“Oh?” Alex asks. “Where to?”

“Santa Fe.”

Alex laughs. “That’s not very far.”

“Didn’t want to be too far,” Michael explains. “In case something happened, you know? I just needed to get away for a while. Clear my head.”

“Did it work?” Alex asks.

Michael licks his bottom lip before he nods. “Yeah, it did.”

“Good,” Alex smiles. “I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks,” he replies.

There’s a lull in the conversation while Michael goes to get another log for the fire. Alex watches him, really lets himself look. His unruly curls have gotten brighter from exposure to the sun, and his clothes—unstained, for once—fit his lean frame nicely. He looks good. Really good.

Alex is about to ask him why he’s here when Michael settles back in his seat and speaks again.

“So how’s, um, how’s Forrest?” Michael asks hesitantly, like he really doesn’t want to know.

Alex winces at the question. “Not great, probably.”

“Probably?” Michael asks.

“I broke up with him,” Alex admits.

“Oh, really?” Michael leans forward in interest. “When?”

“About a week ago.”

“What’d he do?”

Alex sighs. “You really want to talk about this?”

Michael shrugs. “Unless you don’t want to.”

Alex takes a deep breath before he says, “He told me he loves me.”

Michael’s eyebrows shoot toward his hairline. “Um, wow,” he says, and there’s a pause while he processes that.

“Yeah.” Breaking up with Forrest was hard, but it felt kinder than to string him along, knowing he’d never feel the same way.

“I’m guessing the feeling wasn’t mutual?”

Alex chooses his words carefully. “Forrest is one of the nicest guys I know,” he starts. “He’s thoughtful, and funny, and sweet, and he’ll make someone _really_ happy one day, but… that guy isn’t me.”

Alex watches Michael bite his lip before he asks, “Why not?”

The question makes Alex sigh, his gaze dropping to the fire. “Do you really need to ask?”

When he chances a look over at Michael, he sees his eyes are wide with surprise. Alex swallows hard, needing to change the subject. He can’t listen to Michael reject him again. He just can’t.

“So, what was it you wanted to show me?”

“Right,” Michael says. He looks nervous all of a sudden as he reaches into his pocket and takes out a folded piece of paper.

He stares at it in his hand for a minute, as if mentally preparing himself for something. Alex waits as patiently as he can, though his curiosity is piqued.

“I wrote you something,” Michael says at last, running his fingers over the wrinkled, white surface. Alex’s stomach clenches in nervous anticipation. “Well, I wrote _me_ something, about two weeks ago.”

“Does it have anything to do with why you disappeared?” Alex asks, connecting the dots.

“Yeah,” Michael admits. “I’ve been so… mixed up, lately. After everything that happened with my mom, and Max… I did a lot of dumb shit I shouldn’t have, told myself whatever lies I needed to to make things easier. And I hurt people. I hurt _you_.”

“It’s okay,” Alex dismisses. After everything his family has done to Michael’s, Alex considers Michael’s anger his cross to bear.

“It’s really not, Alex,” Michael protests softly, his eyes sad. He takes a deep breath and looks back down to the paper in his hands. “Max pushed me to try writing something honest. He said it would help clear all the bullshit in my head.”

“I take it he was right?”

“Yeah,” Michael nods. “And I think… I think it’s time I shared it with you.”

Michael offers the paper to him. Alex takes it, unfolding it carefully as he braces himself for whatever he’s about to read.

Alex scans the first two lines before he looks up abruptly.

“Michael, what—what is this?”

“Just keep reading,” Michael begs him. “Please.”

Alex swallows and looks back at the page.

_a veteran move as you limp into frame_

_longing to be your crutch, I want to consume your pain_

_so I loosen my belt, a familiar feeling_

_ten years later and my heart’s still reeling_

_then you show up on my porch, floating down the stream_

_while I swim uphill, running out of steam_

_lies upon lies, thighs upon thighs_

_love a woman’s touch, but damn that guy_

_the one who lifted my heaviest sighs with ease_

_too much pride to beg; I’ll let my looks say please_

_so ignore my words, this is where I stand_

_you’re a pretty little liar, and I’m your man_

“Michael,” Alex says, his voice trembling when he finishes reading. “What—What does this mean?“ he asks, desperate for an explanation before he gets the chance to hope.

“It means I love you, Alex,” Michael says, and then the words are spilling out of him, “I thought maybe I could leave this thing between us in the past, but I can’t, and—and I don’t know that I want to anymore. I don’t know that I ever really did.”

Alex is stunned into silence, his heart full and aching all at once with the simple, beautiful truth that _Michael_ _loves him_. He blinks and Michael is on his knees in front of him, reaching for his hands as he looks up at him with eyes the color of smooth bourbon, fresh tears clinging to his lashes.

“Tell me it’s not too late,” Michael sniffs. “Tell me I haven’t lost you.”

“Of course you haven’t lost me,” Alex says, bringing his hand to Michael’s cheek. “I’m right here.”

“Then stay,” he begs, eyes wide and desperate. “Please. I’m asking you to stay.”

Alex leans forward to kiss him, too overwhelmed to answer with words. He pours everything he’s feeling into it and Michael takes everything he has to give. He makes a wounded sound when Alex pulls away, tries to push back into Alex’s space, but Alex stops him with a gentle hand on his collarbone.

“I’m never leaving you again,” Alex promises, looking Michael right in the eye, needing to see him understand how much he means it. “I love you too, Michael. I love you too.”

Tears finally spill down Michael’s cheeks as Alex kisses him again. Michael pushes his way up off the ground and into Alex’s lap, still attached to him at the lips. Alex’s hands slide down his chest to grip his waist, then his hips, holding him firmly.

The cheap chair groans worryingly under their combined weight, just loud enough for Alex to notice through the rushing of blood in his ears. He feels drunk as he pulls back, Michael’s lips leaving his to press needy kisses down the length of his neck.

“Michael,” Alex says. Michael only groans and bites at his throat. Alex’s eyes rolls back into his skull at the sensation, his hand coming up to weave his fingers through Michael’s hair. “Michael,” he says again, this time tugging his head back by his curls so he’s forced to look at him.

Michael’s eyes are dark, intense as he stares down at Alex’s mouth like he wants to devour him whole.

“As much as I don’t want to move right now, I think this chair is going to break,” Alex pants.

“Take me to bed, then,” Michael whispers, sending shivers down his spine.

“You’re gonna have to get off my lap if you want me to do that,” Alex responds, wishing he could just carry him instead so he wouldn’t have to give up the feeling of Michael’s thighs spread over his lap for a single second.

Michael whines, but kisses him once more before sliding off his lap. Alex grabs his hand and lets Michael lead him inside the Airstream.

Once they’re inside, Michael pushes him gently to sit on the edge of his bed. He climbs right back onto his lap, so close their chests are flush together, like he can’t bear the thought of even an inch of space between them.

Alex certainly isn’t complaining, especially not when Michael reaches back a moment later to pull his shirt off. Alex’s hands are on him instantly, savoring that otherworldly heat simmering under Michael’s skin beneath his fingertips. Michael lets out a shuddering breath against his lips at the touch.

“Off,” Michael murmurs when their kiss breaks long enough for him to get the words out. He tugs on the front of Alex’s flannel. “Take this off.”

He leans back to start on the buttons, but he doesn’t move fast enough for Michael, whose fingers grip his collar and _pull_ , buttons flying in every direction like he’s living some kind of bodice-ripper fantasy. Alex doesn’t even have the time to feel put out about his shirt being ruined, Michael’s hands on his chest chasing every other thought right out of his head.

The next thing he knows, his back is hitting the mattress, Michael’s frame weighing him down, caging him in. He feels Michael’s hard cock against his own and he can’t help but pull Michael down harder against him, fingers digging into his ass.

“Fuck,” Michael gasps, grinding down.

Alex keeps kissing him, losing himself to the heat of Michael’s mouth, the softness of his tongue, the occasional bite of his teeth against his bottom lip. It’s nothing short of heaven, and Alex is sure he never wants to feel anything else for the rest of his life.

“Wanna suck your cock so bad,” Michael whines a moment later when he breaks the kiss, rolling his hips against Alex’s a little harder, “but I feel like I’ll die if I stop kissing you.”

The promise of Michael’s hot, wet mouth on his cock makes him throb in his jeans, but Alex shakes his head.

“Later,” Alex pants. “God, Michael, I’ll give you anything you want, just don’t stop kissing me.”

Michael groans before bringing their lips together again in a kiss that’s all tongue and teeth.

“Wait,” Michael gasps when they part again, reaching for his absurdly large belt buckle. He doesn’t bother to take it off, just unbuckles it and gets to work on his jeans.

Alex gets the picture pretty quick. He unbuttons his own jeans and shoves them down his thighs along with his underwear, just far enough to free his aching cock.

Michael licks his palm and takes Alex in hand, hissing when Alex does the same before he leans down to kiss him again, a forearm braced beside Alex’s head to give them just enough space to work. Michael’s cock is hot and hard against his palm, and Alex wishes he could watch the way pre-come leaks from him as he runs his thumb over the sensitive head, spreading the wetness around as he moves.

It’s a heady assault on his senses—the smell of Michael surrounding him, the feel of Michael’s fist tight around his cock, his lips smothering the whimpers Alex can feel in the back of his throat. Alex is coming before he knows it, pleasure twisting hot in his gut as Michael jerks him off fast and rough, just the way he likes it.

When his brain comes back online, Alex uses his own release to slick the way even more as Michael fucks his fist. He barely has the time to say, “Come on, just like that, wanna watch you come,” before Michael is shooting hard against his stomach, gasping against his cheek.

Alex kisses him wherever he can reach as Michael collapses against his chest and trembles through the aftershocks, his clean hand running up and down along his spine.

Michael wakes the next morning to see the love of his life lying on his back next to him, re-reading the poem he wrote about him. He shifts closer to Alex and presses a kiss to his shoulder.

“You’re awake,” Alex says, looking at him with a bright smile.

“You stayed,” Michael says, a fond smile tugging at his mouth.

“Told you,” Alex says, rolling onto his side to face him. “I’m never leaving you again. I’m in this, for real this time.”

Overwhelmed by the confirmation of Alex’s feelings, Michael leans in to press their lips together. The kiss is short and sweet, lasting only a few seconds before Michael pulls back, just to look at him.

“What?” Alex asks, a subtle blush beginning to color his face.

Michael smiles wider. “Nothing,” he says, dropping a kiss on one of his pink cheeks. Alex catches his lips with his own as he pulls back, and Michael is happy to let him.

“This is really good, by the way,” Alex comments when he’s had his fill of kisses for the moment, looking back to the poem. “Forgot to mention that last night.”

“Guess I distracted you, huh,” Michael says, smirking as he eyes the bruise he left on Alex’s neck.

Alex hums in agreement.

“Well, I’m glad you like it,” he says, something in his chest loosening at Alex’s approval.

Alex smiles, but Michael can tell there’s something brewing in his head.

“What?” Michael asks, nudging his chin with his nose.

“I’ve gotta ask… is this the reason you and Maria broke up?” Alex asks, waving the paper in his hand. “I heard it was pretty explosive.”

“Yeah,” Michael grimaces. “She found it in my pocket.”

“Hm,” Alex hums, and a look of smug satisfaction graces his face. “Good.”

“Good?” Michael asks, raising an eyebrow.

“She knows you’re mine now,” Alex says as he shifts to lean over him, his right thigh coming to rest between Michael’s own. Michael shivers as Alex leans in to whisper in his ear, “And I don’t share.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr [@prouvaireafterdark!](https://prouvaireafterdark.tumblr.com/)


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